


Old Hymns, New Prayers

by kaibasetos



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh!
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-28
Updated: 2015-09-28
Packaged: 2018-04-23 21:00:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4892089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaibasetos/pseuds/kaibasetos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Welcome to being in love. The aching is Hell, but the feeling is Heaven.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Old Hymns, New Prayers

**Author's Note:**

> I don't have much to say about this one other than that I've been meaning to write something that predates even an attempt at a relationship between these two for a while, so I hope y'all enjoy it! The summary quote was penned by Tumblr user [eveetheadventurer](http://eveetheadventurer.tumblr.com/).

Kaiba can’t crack the code. He has felt familial love, that much he knows for sure. Mokuba is the one who taught him what love could feel like, fresh air when your lungs are empty and burning and a single, steady purpose to keep living for. Romantic love, however, is as foreign to him as a dead language on the tongue of a stranger. It seems as distant, as lost, as an ancient hymn left forgotten beneath an abandoned church pew.

He’s heard the feeling recounted to him through heavy metaphor and exuberant smiles, of course. He’s heard it feels like butterflies in your stomach, but that sounds too gentle and delicate to be love. He could swear love is something that comes rushing through your veins like a freight train and leaves you breathless in the night, but he has nothing to compare it to. He lays in bed and rolls the thought over and over in his head.

When he banters and argues with Jounouchi, is that love? When he rolls his eyes and scoffs at him and spits insults he doesn’t put his whole heart into anymore, when he feels something alive and roaring and bigger than his bones awaken in him because Jounouchi locks horns with him and spits those insults right back with a grin, when his heart beats harder in his chest because Jounouchi rises to his challenge and engages him, is that love? Is it love, or is it just a game?

When he thinks of Jounouchi and his hands start to quiver, is that love? When he swears he can hear Jounouchi’s bright laughter echo in the darkest untouched corners of him, when Jounouchi’s voice across the room is enough to make him feel like his breath is sharp fangs in his throat, when Jounouchi cycles through his mind and he finds himself digging his nails into his arm to keep himself grounded, is that love? Is it love, or is it just an obsession?

When Jounouchi’s proximity to him tears him apart, is that love? When Jounouchi stands too close in a crowded space and he has to fight the urge to close the distance between them, when Jounouchi’s knuckles or fingertips graze against him and he feels his skin flush with such a heat it both frightens and invigorates him, when Jounouchi rests an easy hand on his shoulder and he has to stop himself from shaking, is that love? Is it love, or is it just a nameless, faceless craving?

When he wants Jounouchi, is that love? When they talk and his eyes flick down to Jounouchi’s lips, wondering how they would feel against his own, is that love? When he finds himself alone in his bedroom at night and spares a moment to linger on the idea of Jounouchi’s body heat in his bed, is that love?

When he wakes from a fitful sleep in a cold sweat with all of the things he wishes he could say to Jounouchi weighing his silver tongue down like a prayer no one has dared to uttered before, is that love?

Kaiba’s phone vibrates on the nightstand and his eyes jerk over to it. He sees Jounouchi’s name flash up on the caller ID when he picks it up and he hesitates, taking a slow, deep breath before he hits a button and pulls his phone up to his ear.

“Hello, Jounouchi.”

When Jounouchi’s name tastes like sweet sunrise and clouded moonlight in his mouth, is that love?

“Kaiba? It’s late, I-- I wasn’t expectin’ you to answer.” Jounouchi sounds almost ashamed of himself, as though he’s been caught in the act of doing something wrong. “I was just gonna leave a voicemail, I thought you’d be in bed.”

“I am,” Kaiba says, and he thinks he hears Jounouchi huff out a surprised breath, perhaps of laughter.

“Then why the hell are you on the phone talkin’ to me? Why aren’t you asleep?”

Kaiba opens his mouth to respond, but he can’t say _because I was trying to categorize my feelings for you the way I categorize anything else and they don’t seem to fit my organizational system_. He can’t say _because I think there is something more than friendship going on between us and I’m not quite sure what it is or whether or not I even want to find out_.

He can’t say _because I couldn’t stop thinking of you_.

“That isn’t as simple as you like to make it sound.”

Jounouchi definitely laughs a little this time, but it sounds a bit weak and perplexed. “I’m pretty sure it is that simple, Kaiba. You should get some sleep.”

When Jounouchi’s concern for him works its way through his bones to sit unfamiliar but comfortable in his ribcage, is that love?

“Consider your revolutionary suggestion noted. I am not asleep _right now_ , however, because you decided to call me at…” Kaiba glances over at his alarm clock to note the time. “Three thirty-nine in the morning, so why don’t you explain that?”

There is a silence following his question that pulls itself inexplicably and uncomfortably long for Jounouchi. Kaiba can hear his faint breathing and can almost feel him thinking, but the stillness on the other line is cavernous and tense. He clenches his free hand in the sheets of his bed and balls it into a fist.

“Jounouchi?” He prompts, slightly strained.

“I just, uh,” Jounouchi says, his voice hesitant and unsure. He pauses for another long moment. “Actually, don’t worry about it, it’s nothin’. I just really thought I was gonna get your voicemail.”

He says the last sentence more to himself than to Kaiba. Kaiba’s chest tightens and his heart palpitates vividly, skipping and hammering. He digs his nails into the sheets, trying to keep from digging them into his own flesh instead.

“I’m afraid I’m not willing to believe that you called me at 3AM over nothing.”

“Y’know what, Kaiba?” Jounouchi’s tone is feist and combat suddenly, like he’s gearing up to start an argument, but Kaiba hears him sigh at length and when he speaks again the fire has dulled to a smolder. “Listen, it’s fuckin’ stupid, alright? I… I was just thinkin’ about you, and I guess I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

When Kaiba hears _I was just thinking about you_ and those words replay themselves on an endless, euphoric loop that makes his head swim, is that love?

“I’m fine, Jounouchi,” he says cautiously, finally, slowly loosening his grip on the sheets. He wants to say something else, anything else, to spout meaningless words to keep Jounouchi on the line, to keep Jounouchi thinking of him, but he doesn’t get the opportunity.

“Okay. Good. Now that we’ve got that outta the way and I’ve thoroughly fuckin’ embarrassed myself, can I go?”

“Yes.” It’s all Kaiba can say.

“Alright, just.” Jounouchi pauses. “Just get some fuckin’ sleep, alright? Jesus Christ, Kaiba.”

Kaiba doesn’t have the chance to respond before Jounouchi hangs up the call. He stares at his phone blankly for a moment before sliding it back onto the nightstand and making himself comfortable in bed, curled up on his side and observing the far wall of his room without really seeing anything.

When the idea of Jounouchi laying awake in bed thinking of him strikes him like lightning with fierce and fire. When the idea of their thoughts of each other intermingling and bridging the desolate morning miles between them makes Kaiba feel, somehow, distinctly less alone. When the idea of Jounouchi’s voice stuttering and turning uncertain over him rushes through his veins like a freight train and leaves him breathless in the night. When he feels, suddenly, as if he’s found that ancient hymn and a gospel choir is singing it fresh life through every inch of him, is that love?

Is it love, or is it something more intricate and more powerful than he will ever be able to comprehend?

 

 


End file.
